Mr Monk and Natalie Teeger
by tsukiryoushi
Summary: Chapter 3: Sometimes friendship can be as fragile as glass... and sometimes words can hurt as bad as a shard of glass in your foot. Monk/Natalie
1. Mr Monk and the Anniversary

I am a huge fan of the show Monk, and have always felt that Monk and Natalie were perfect for each other. So what I wanted to do was write a story (or maybe stories) about them sharing moments together, but make them plausible. No "Natalie, I suddenly love you and am cured of everything!" no "Adrian, you're the man of my dreams!" No offense to anyone with fics like that, of course. But I always thought their relationship would be more subtle, that it would sneak up on them. And, of course, there would be some difficulties to overcome. But, in the end, I think they would have come to realie just what they mean to each other.

Anyway, enough of my blathering, on to the fic!

(I do not own anything in this story. I wrote this fanfiction for my own enjoyment, and am getting no profit from it at all.)

--

"Mr. Monk, it's late," Natalie said, trying her best to keep her patience. "Julie's staying over at a friend's house tonight, and I was hoping to have a little me-time."

"Here's the thing," Monk replied as he sat on the couch, sorting out a collection of video tapes on the table in front of him, "I'm trying to dust off and organize these tapes, and I could use some help."

Natalie sighed heavily. "Mr. Monk, you never want me to help you organize things. Or whenever I try you always redo it, anyway. Besides, can't you remember the order they were in before you brought them all out?"

Monk didn't answer at first. He just took another tape from the neat stack of undusted tapes, removed it from its box, ran a swiffer over each side of it--twice--and then dusted the box inside and out. He then placed the tape back in the box, making sure the label faced out, and was right-side up, before setting it on the neat stack of tapes he had already dusted. "It shouldn't take long, Natalie," he finally said, "I promise."

Natalie sighed again and set her purse down on the coffee table, then took a seat next to Monk. For some reason he had been exceptionally needy that day. She grabbed the second swiffer and a tape, and looked at the label. "Trudy's birthday," it said. She understood now why he had so many VHS tapes, and why he took such great care of them. They must have all been home movies of Trudy.

_He really loved her, _she thought to herself. _No, not "loved." He still loves her now just as much as when she was alive. I know how hard it is to love someone who has gone from your life forever._

Pushing these thoughts aside, Natalie ran the swiffer over the front side of the tape, then the backside. Monk saw this and shook his head disapprovingly. "No, no, no," he said, "dust around the edges first, then the front and then the back. Then, dust the edges again, then dust the front again, then the back again."

"Mr. Monk, why should I dust it twice?"

Monk sighed and shook his head, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Because," he explained, as one would explain something to a child, "the first time you dust, particles could fly into the air and resettle. You have to get those settling dust particles, or else why bother dusting at all, Natalie?"

Natalie, as she had done many times before, just sighed, counted to ten, and nodded her head. "Alright, alright," she said, and she dusted exactly as Monk told her. Or, so she thought.

"Not too fast," he said, "or you'll just push the dust around."

Natalie rolled her eyes and tried again. Finally hearing no objections to her dusting technique, she moved on to dusting the box inside and out and carefully placed the tape back in it and set it on the "dusted" stack. Monk promptly noticed it was slightly off-kilter and adjusted it, making the stack perfect again.

Natalie quietly took another tape and dusted it as well, carefully heeding her employer's instructions. After about a half-hour--and several more objections from Monk on Natalie's dusting-technique--the tapes were finally dusted and ready to be put away. Monk carried half to the entertainment center, followed by Natalie who carried the rest, and he set them in a neat row, organized alphabetically, according to runtime on the tapes, and each box color coordinated.

Natalie watched as he did this, and could hardly believe how dedicated he could be to something. He didn't even seem to mind what most others would consider a tedious task. But still why had he insisted she stay and help? He'd barely let her do anything aside from dusting, and even then he re-dusted most of the tapes. Why was she even here? She dared a glance at the clock and groaned when she saw it was 11:46 p.m. "Mr. Monk, if you don't mind, I'd really like to get home now," she said. Monk didn't answer. "Mr. Monk?" She looked over at him and noticed he had stopped. He stood there with one of the tapes in his hands, just staring at the label. "Mr. Monk?" she said again, slightly concerned.

"I-I'm sorry Natalie," he finally said in a small voice. "You can go now. I-I'll see you tomorrow."

But Natalie didn't move. She was aware of how sad Monk had become, and she cautiously moved closer. Looking over his shoulder she could see the label on the tape. "Sixth Anniversary." There was also a date: August eighth, 1997.

_The year Trudy was killed, _Natalie realized. She also remember that today was the eighth of August. _No wonder he's been acting this way, and no wonder he doesn't want to be alone._

Monk stared at the tape a moment longer, then he slowly took it out of its box and put it in the VCR and pressed "play." He sat down on the couch, never taking his eyes off the television, as the video started to play.

There was Trudy, still alive and well, smiling brightly for the camera as she unwrapped a gift. "I hope you'll like it," Monks voice was heard to say. He was out of the camera's view at the moment.

"You know I will, Adrian," Trudy replied. She finally removed the wrapping paper--careful not to rip it, for her husband's sake--and saw a black jewelry box. When she opened it, she gasped out loud and took out the gold necklace inside. "Adrian, it's beautiful," she said, and she held it up to admire it in the light. It was a gold chain, with a diamond set into a golden star hanging in the center. "Oh, I can't believe how beautiful it is. Thank you so much, Darling!"

Finally, Monk moved into the camera's view, as he sat next to Trudy on the couch. She put her arms around him and kissed him lovingly.

Natalie stood there watching the tape, and turned to Monk, who stared blankly at the screen. She looked sympathetically at the man she considered one of her best friends, if not _the _best friend she had, and sat down next to him. She cautiously moved her arm behind Monk and rubbed his back gently. He never moved, and kept staring at the screen.

Now the video showed Monk and Trudy at a party. They were surrounded by friends and family, only a few of which Natalie recognized. There was Captain Stottlemeyer, Trudy's parents (Natalie had met Mr. and Mrs. Ellison once when they visited Monk) and Monk's brother Ambrose, who was mostly keeping to himself. It was then she noticed they were all in Ambrose' house. A big banner was hung up that read "Happy 6th Anniversary Adrian and Trudy."

Monk and Trudy both smiled and laughed as the party progressed, talking and joking with their friends and family. Natalie had never seen Mr. Monk so happy before. And then, when she saw him dancing with Trudy, smiling and holding her close while looking deep in her eyes, she couldn't suppress a smile. She wished he could be that happy again. But her smile faded when she turned to Monk and saw tears pouring down his cheeks.

"Every year, I think I'll finally go the day without watching this," he whispered so quietly that Natalie almost didn't hear it, "but I always do… I always do…"

Natalie could feel tears coming to her own eyes as well, and she scooted closer to Monk and hugged him, resting her head against his. Monk didn't object, he had been hugged by Natalie enough times to where he could tolerate it. Oh sure, he would normally tense up, but right now he just didn't care one way or the other. He just sat there, staring at the screen, and the tears continued to flow.

Finally, the tape ended, but neither Monk nor Natalie got up to turn it off. They both stayed there on the couch.

After a moment, Natalie finally lifted her head to look at Monk, and he turned to look at her as well. "I'm so sorry, Mr. Monk," she said softly.

"For what?" Monk asked. "You weren't responsible for Trudy's death… I was."

"No, you weren't," Natalie said firmly. "It was not your fault, Mr. Monk. Okay?" Monk didn't answer. He just turned away again. Natalie sighed and gently kissed him on the forehead, then grabbed a wipe from her purse and handed it to him. He took it and wiped off his forehead, muttering a small "thank you." Natalie nodded and hugged him again, resting her head on his shoulder.

They slipped into silence again, until Monk finally said, "I haven't watched that tape with another person since that day." He looked down at her with as much of a smile as he could muster. "It… helps. Almost… not very much, but…"

Natalie just smiled, understanding perfectly what he was trying to say. "You're welcome," she said.

Monk nodded and leaned back into the couch a little. "You don't have to stay anymore," he said. "You can have your you-time. I'm sorry I kept you here."

Natalie shook her head. "There'll be other nights for me-time," she said. "I think I'll stick around a bit longer."

Monk nodded again, and tried again to smile. He didn't quite succeed. But then Natalie was surprised to feel him put his arm around her. "I… I'm glad…" he said, "that you were here."

Natalie smiled warmly at him. "I'll always be here for you if you need me, Mr. Monk."

Monk finally managed a smile, and he looked down to see Natalie drifting off to sleep on his shoulder. He raised a hand to stroke a strand of hair away from her face, paused, and thought better of it. He looked at the clock and saw that it was now 12:51 a.m. He had survived another August eighth without Trudy. But this time… he hadn't done it alone.

--

Well, there you have it. I may leave it as a one-shot, but let me know if you enjoyed it, and maybe I'll write more!


	2. Mr Monk and the Friendly Chat

Okay, so this chapter's probably not my best work. The moment between Monk and Natalie's not the best, the ending sucks, and the "Monk-ish" mystery I was going for is probably really dumb, but bear with me. I have a plan for this fic, and if I go through with it this will play an important part in the story. Enjoy.

(I do not own Monk or any of it's characters.)

A few weeks passed, relatively uneventful. Monk now stood with Natalie, Captain Stottlemeyer, Randy and a man named Shawn Kenneth, a bank teller. They were now in a bank vault, which had recently been the scene of a murder. A guard, named Donnie Jameson, had been beaten to death by a sack of coins, but nothing had been stolen. Or so it seemed. Monk wasn't too sure. Now he had called the Captain and Mr. Kenneth back to the scene, and was about to reveal his theory.

"We had originally thought that the guard was killed by another guard," he said, "a Mr. Joel Patrick."

"Right, cause he and Jameson were seen arguing," Stottlemeyer added, "and he threatened his life."

"Right, but it wasn't Mr. Patrick," Monk pointed out. "We know that, because he passed his polygraph tests."

"Polygraphs have proven wrong before, Mr. Monk," said Mr. Kenneth. He was a tall, skinny man, nearly bald, who wore thick-rimmed glasses.

"Maybe," Monk continued, "but he did have an alibi. And for another thing…" he turned to look around the vault, "if I were going to kill someone in a bank, especially a bank where I was a guard… I'd take at least a little money, and make it seem like a robbery. The money had been tossed around, but according to the bank records there is the exact same amount now as there was before the night of the murder. However… I think someone _did _take money from this vault, and then replaced it."

"But Mr. Monk," said Natalie, "why would anyone take money from a bank just to put money back? It makes no sense."

"It does… if they wanted to hide something." Monk turned with a grin to Mr. Kenneth. "Don't you agree?"

"What are you talking about?" Mr. Kenneth demanded.

Monk kept grinning. "I noticed the other day, the morning after the murder, that the money had been strewn about the vault, as though someone had been looking through it for something. But one of the bills--a fifty dollar bill, by the way--had been placed back in the drawer. I wondered why anyone would throw money around, and leave a single bill setting neatly in its drawer, but then I got a closer look at it.

"I had been told, Mr. Kenneth, that there was a recent delivery of new currency not long ago to this bank, and that the new bills had been stored in this very vault."

"That's right," Kenneth admitted.

"But this bill was old. Possibly from the nineties. Much older than the rest of the money in the vault. I think you put it there, Mr. Kenneth." Kenneth looked surprised, but everyone else listened intently. "Here's what happened…

Mr. Kenneth is not just a bank teller, as he would have us believe. I did some snooping and discovered he had been arrested on several charges of fraud and money laundering, but had never been convicted, because there was always a lack of evidence. But now he was up to something much more complex than simple fraud: counterfeiting. He was involved in the counterfeiting ring that was recently caught by the FBI."

"I remember that," said Stottlemeyer. "They said they were still trying to find one of the guys that got away."

"Exactly," monk continued. "And that guy is Mr. Shawn Kenneth. He was trying to launder money through this very bank when his counterfeiting ring was uncovered. He moved quickly and got rid of all the fake bills, fearing they would be found and linked to him, but unfortunately, he forgot one: a single, fake fifty dollar bill.

"By the time he had realized his mistake, the bill had already been placed in the vault. He had to get it back, so late at night he snuck in and began looking for it. Donnie Jameson was unfortunate enough to catch Mr. Kenneth in the act, so Kenneth picked up a heavy bag of coins and beat him to death before Jameson had time to defend himself. He then found the counterfeit bill, took it, and replaced it with a fifty from his own pocket, so it would look like nothing had been stolen, and make everyone think that the murder had nothing to do with the money."

Kenneth, looking very irritated, just scoffed. "A very interesting story, Mr. Monk," he said, "but there's no way you can prove it happened, or that I had any involvement."

"That's where you're wrong," Monk replied, and he held up an evidence bag, which held a fifty dollar bill. "This proves that someone had taken a money from this vault. You must have been wearing gloves, so that your fingerprints wouldn't be on any of the money in the vault… but in the heat of the moment you failed to remember the fingerprints on this bill."

Stottlemeyer grinned, and decided he had heard enough. "Randy," he said, "you know what to do."

"Yes, Sir," Randy replied as he took out his handcuffs and cuffed Mr. Kenneth's hands behind his back.

"Mr. Monk, that was incredible," Natalie cheered. She patted Monk on the back, and he shrugged his shoulders as though his shirt was causing him discomfort.

"This isn't over," Kenneth growled under his breath, just before Randy handed him off to another officer, and he was led out.

"What-- what did he mean by that?" Monk asked.

"Ah, it's nothing," Stottlemeyer assured him. "Nobody likes it when they don't get away with murder, but he'll have the next fifty or so years to get over it."

Natalie nodded, then looked at her watch. "Oh, shoot! I have to go pick up Julie!"

"Julie?" Randy asked. "I thought she was still on summer vacation?"

"She is," Natalie explained, "but she's visiting her grandparents and I was supposed to give her a ride home ten minutes ago. Come on, Mr. Monk!" She grabbed his arm and all but dragged him away. Stottlemeyer just chuckled as he watched them go.

"Sometimes," he said, "I'd swear they were an old married couple."

--

After picking up Julie--though not in time for Natalie to avoid a talk with her mother-- the three made it to Natalie's house and walked through the door, happy to be done with a long day of work.

"I can't believe how you solved this case, Mr. Monk," Julie said as she placed her backpack on the couch.

"I know, I couldn't, either," Natalie added. She picked up her mail for the day, looked through it, and placed it on the table.

"Well, all in a day's work," Monk replied. He put a wipe over the strap of Julie's bag, carefully picked it up and hung it on its peg. He breathed a small sigh of relief.

"So, what's for dinner tonight?" Julie asked as she sat down on the couch.

"Well, I was thinking pizza, how's that sound?" Natalie answered.

"Sounds great, Mom."

Natalie smiled, and turned to Monk. "Wanna stay for dinner?"

"Oh… no, thank you," Monk replied, while touching the peg Julie's bag hung from. "I'm… I'm not a big fan of pizza."

"Mr. Monk, I can get them to cut it into ten even slices, and I promise the toppings will be even, too. Come on."

"Well…" Monk thought it over a minute. "No. No, I don't think so."

Natalie sighed. "Okay… how about Julie and I just come to _your _house? We can enjoy our greasy, cheesy, messy pizza right in your living room. I just hope they have enough napkins…" she turned to Julie and gave her a quick wink.

Now Monk seemed to rethink the whole thing. "Okay…" he said, "on second thought… why don't I stay for dinner?"

Natalie smiled and patted Monk on the back. "We'd love to have you, Mr. Monk."

Monk nodded. "Just… just be sure to get extra napkins, please."

--

After enjoying their pizza (pepperoni pizza, cut in ten even slices with four pieces of pepperoni on each slice, of course) Monk and Natalie went to the kitchen to do the dishes. Julie had cleaned up the napkins and thrown away the box, and was now in her room talking to her friends online, so Monk and Natalie had some time alone. Natalie washed the dishes, while Monk dried them and put them away (though more often he found some speck only he could see and insisted Natalie clean them again) and after awhile the two fell into a conversation.

"You know," Natalie said, handing a plate to Monk, "Julie's really proud of you."

"Me?" Monk asked, amazed, as he looked the plate over for the third time. He finally found it acceptable and dried it, then placed it carefully in the cupboard. "Why would she be proud of me?"

"Oh, come on, why shouldn't she be? She talks to her friends all the time about the cases you solve. She's as proud of you as she is Mitch, and that's really saying something." Natalie finished another plate and handed it to Monk.

Monk looked at the plate, was about to dry it, but somehow noticed something and handed it back to Natalie. She sighed, but took the plate and washed it again.

"She really misses him, doesn't she?" Monk asked.

Natalie paused a moment, then nodded her head. Talking about Mitch with Monk was nothing new. They talked about him many times, as well as about Trudy. Somehow, it was easy to talk to each other about it, as they both knew what the other had gone through. "I wish you could have seen them together," she said. "Mitch and Julie were so close… She idolized him. I guess I did, too, sometimes…" She chuckled to herself as she handed the plate to Monk again. "But then again, sometimes Mitch could really drive me crazy."

Monk inspected the dish before drying it. "What do you mean?"

"Oh, you know. We had our moments when we argued, like all married couples do. Well, most, anyway. I'm sure you and Trudy never argued."

Monk just smiled and shook his head. "No, no, we argued, too…"

"Really?" Natalie turned to face Monk and leaned back against the counter. "I never imagined you and Trudy could have argued. Like, ever."

"Well, of course we did." Monk placed the plate in the cupboard and wiped his hands off. "Like you said, all married couples argue sometimes."

"What did you argue about? I mean, if you don't mind me asking."

Monk shrugged his shoulders. "Just… stuff. Like, one time when I had just joined the police force… we argued because Trudy was worried that being a cop was too dangerous."

Natalie nodded. She could sympathize, having stayed up several nights worried sick about Mitch. "What happened?"

"Well… we talked about it. It kind of turned into a fight, and I ended up sleeping on the couch."

Natalie laughed, then put a hand over her mouth to silence herself. "I'm-- I'm sorry, Mr. Monk, I didn't mean to laugh… I just can't imagine you being sent to sleep on the couch."

"Well… it happened… It was the most uncomfortable night of my life." Monk paused and thought a moment. "Well… to that point, anyway."

"What happened next?"

"Well, I thought about it all night, and realized she was only worried about me, so the next morning I apologized. She said she was sorry, too, and she knew how much my job meant to me, so we made up then and there."

Natalie smiled. "That's so sweet," she cooed. "I wish Mitch and I could have been that romantic when we made up after a fight."

"Why, how did you make up?"

"Well," Natalie moved away from the counter and took a seat at the table, next to Monk, "once, before Julie was born--maybe a year, maybe seven months before, I can't remember--Mitch and I went to stay a weekend at my parents' house. Needless to say, my parents weren't that friendly…" Monk nodded. He knew all about how the Davenports felt about Mitch. "Anyway, when we got home, Mitch complained about how my parents treated him, and, since they are my parents, after all, I felt a little offended at the way he was talking about them. When I said so, he got mad and said I was defending them. And, of course, that got me mad, too."

"How'd you make up?" Monk asked.

Natalie sighed and closed her eyes a moment. "Well… we both went to bed angry, and the next day we just didn't talk to each other. But, the next day, we started talking a little, a 'hi' here and there, and 'how was your day,' that kind of thing. By that night, Mitch very quietly apologized for getting mad, and I accepted his apology." Natalie glanced at the clock and noticed it was 8:30. "Oh, wow, it's getting late," she said. "I guess I'd better give you a ride home, huh?"

"Yeah…" Monk agreed, looking over at the clock.

Natalie let Julie know she was taking Monk home, and they headed to the car. The drive was fairly quiet, neither of them feeling the need to talk, and when Natalie pulled up in front of Monk's home he silently opened the passenger door and got out.

"Mr. Monk?" Natalie called as he walked towards the front door. He stopped and turned back around as Natalie leaned out the window. "Thanks for having pizza with us, Mr. Monk," she said with a smile.

Monk smiled back as best he could. "Thanks for inviting me," he replied, "even though… you know… you pretty much forced me into it."

Natalie laughed and waved goodbye. Monk waved back and walked to the door. Once he was inside, Natalie started the car and drove home again, still smiling the whole way.


	3. Mr Monk and the Broken Glass

Okay, so this chapter's gonna be a little more dramatic and angst-y, but like I said, Monk and Natalie would have to make it through some difficulties before they ever ended up together. Also, I don't really like how I ended this one, but I did my best.

Okay, enjoy!

(I still don't own anything)

So far, the night had been like a dream. The weather was clear, and the reletively air warm, despite it being September, and the restaurant was just too wonderful. Natalie couldn't remember the last date she'd been on that she'd enjoyed so much. She folded her hands in front of her and listened as her date, an incredibly handsome man of about thirty-seven named James, told her about his career as a sports-column writer.

"So then," he said, "who should walk up but Michael Jordan?"

"Are you serious?" Natalie said, impressed. "You actually met Michael Jordan?"

"Well, kind of," James admitted, taking a sip of his wine, "We shook hands, said hello, and that was about it. But enough about me, I'd love to hear more about you."

"Well," Natalie began, "as you know, I have a daughter--Julie, she's almost seventeen now--and I work as a personal assistant to a private investigator."

"Really. That sounds fascinating. So, what kind of cases does your employer work on?"

"Oh, well, he mostly works with the police department as a consultant. He's solved several high profile murder cases, in fact. Maybe you've heard of him? Adrian Monk?"

"As a matter of fact, I have." James leaned forward, his interest peaked. "Didn't he used to be a detective? Until he went… you know?" He waved his finger in a circular motion near his head.

"Oh! Oh, no, no, that's not what happened. See… his wife was killed by a car bomb, and it deeply affected him."

"Oh, I'm sorry."

Natalie nodded. "He's been trying to get reinstated though. I think he has a good chance, too, he's been doing so much better than when I first met him… Oh, but listen to me, I'm going on and on about my boss, I'm sorry. Anyway, I--" Before she could finish, her cell phone rang. "Excuse me just a moment," she said in an apologetic way as she reached into her bag for her phone. The caller I.D. read "Mr. Monk."

Speak of the devil,

Natalie thought as she answered, giving James an apologetic look. "Hello?"

"Natalie?" she heard Monk's voice on the other end. "Natalie, it's me. Adrian. Monk."

"Mr. Monk, I know it's you," she said, as quietly as she could. She turned slightly away from James now. "What's wrong?"

"Natalie, it's awful!" Monk whined. "It's just terrible! I tripped… It broke the minute it hit the ground…!"

Natalie's eyes widened in concern, and her breath caught in her chest. "Oh, God, Mr. Monk! Are you okay? What broke?"

"The glass!" Monk almost cried, "it just broke into a million pieces!"

Natalie blinked confusedly a moment, then shook her head. "What?" she demanded.

"I was having a glass of water, I tripped, and the glass fell and broke. Now there's glass and water under the refrigerator that I can't get to, not to mention shards that could have flown right into the rug and stuck there, and now I have an incomplete set of glasses… Natalie, you've gotta come over!"

"Is everything alright?" James asked.

"It's fine," Natalie replied, a bit harsher than she intended, then she returned her attention to Monk. "You called me and scared me half to death because of a stupid glass? Mr. Monk, I'm on a date! You knew I had a date tonight, remember?"

"I know, but…" Natalie could almost hear him fidgeting and shrugging his shoulders, "but you've gotta get over here quick and help me clean this up. Then we've gotta go to the store and by a replacement glass."

"Can't it wait till tomorrow?" Natalie was almost gritting her teeth now, and she didn't have to look to know James must have been staring at her.

"Here's the thing," Monk replied, "the water under the fridge could create mildew, and if I breath that I could get really sick, not to mention the fact that if there are shards of glass in the rug, I could step on them, get an infection and die! Please, Natalie, I am begging you!"

"Mr. Monk, no!" Natalie replied firmly. "I am not leaving my date to help you clean under your fridge, it can wait!"

"But Natalie, this is important!"

"More important than my social life?"

There was a pause on the other end. "I think so," Monk finally replied.

Natalie growled in frustration, and hung up the phone. "I can't believe him sometimes!" She threw her phone back into her bag and turned to face James again. "I am so sorry about that!"

"It's no problem…" said James. "Only… was he really calling about a broken glass and cleaning under his fridge?"

Natalie sighed. "Yes… yes, he was."

James shook his head. "Sounds like that guy needs a caretaker, not an assistant."

Natalie stopped and frowned at James. "What does that mean?" she asked.

James shrugged his shoulders. "I dunno, it just sounds like this guy's not altogether, you know? How do you put up with it?"

"Well, you know, Mr. Monk can be demanding, but he is a brilliant man."

James scoffed. "But he can't clean under his own fridge? Maybe he should be in someplace where he can be watched 24/7 or something."

Natalie's frown deepened. "Mr. Monk is not an invalid! He has problems, and they can be serious, but that is not all there is to him!"

James crossed his arms. "Well, excuse me. Why are you so defensive, anyway? I thought this weirdo was just your boss."

Natalie, face red with anger, stood up from the table and put her purse over her shoulder. "He happens to be my friend, too," she said tersely. "And this date is over. Good night." With that, she stormed out of the restaurant.

--

On the way to Monk's house, Natalie seethed to herself at how the night had gone from perfect to a perfect disaster in a matter of minutes. And all it took was one call from Mr. Monk. How could he? How could he tell her point-blank like that that her life was less important than some stupid broken glass? And just because she had stood up for him and was now headed to his house to help him didn't mean she was any less annoyed with him. She pulled up in front of Monk's house, slammed the car door shut behind her, and walked up to the front door and rang the bell.

Monk answered the door, wearing a robe over his pajamas, and just looked at her. "What took you so long?" he asked.

Natalie stared at him. "What? You knew I was coming even though I said I wasn't?"

"Well, it was pretty obvious you would. We both knew you would, didn't we?"How dare he?! Natalie thought. He just took for granted the fact that she cared enough to try and help him with even the most idiotic things. How dare he?

Natalie walked in, brushing past Monk. She didn't care if he was bothered by her shoulder bumping into his--which he was. She just went to the kitchen and looked around. It was as immaculate as ever, so Monk had obviously already cleaned what he could.

"Help me push," she said, almost under her breath, and moved to the fridge. Monk did as he was told, and they both pushed the refrigerator over. Natalie then got a towel, cleaned up some water, and then swept up the pieces of glass. After cleaning up the rest of the water--and convincing Monk there was not going to be any deadly mildew--they pushed the fridge back into place, making sure it was in exactly the same spot as before, when the heel broke off of one of Natalie's shoes.

"Damn it!" she shouted, and sat down on a chair to take off the ruined shoe. "This was one of my favorite pairs…"

"What about the rug?" Monk asked.

"Will you forget the stupid rug?!" Natalie growled as she looked at her shoe. "I swear, you ruined my date, made me help you move your stupid fridge, and do you even offer one stinking 'thank you'? No!"

"Ruined your date? What do you mean?"

"Oh, please," Natalie rolled her eyes. "You may take me for granted, but if my date hadn't ended I wouldn't be here, now!"

"I don't take you for granted," Monk defended, as he took a seat next to her.

"Oh, you don't? What about the way you automatically assumed I was going to show up just now? Mr. Monk, I cannot be at your beck and call twenty-four hours a day. If you want someone to hold your hand all hours of the day and night, why don't you just check into an asylum and get it over with!" Natalie inwardly kicked herself, immediately regretting her words. She turned to Mr. Monk and saw a shocked look on his face. "Oh, Mr. Monk, I didn't… I didn't mean that."

Monk looked down at the ground and shrugged his shoulders uncomfortably. "Yes… yes you did," he said, sadly. "Why shouldn't you have meant it? I'm just a burden to everyone, aren't I?"

"Mr. Monk…" Natalie tried to put a hand on his, but he moved away. Suddenly, her anger began to come back, and she stood up. "You know what?" she said, "I have to get home. Julie's probably waiting for me. Goodnight, Mr. Monk."

Monk didn't answer, and Natalie stormed off, carrying her broken shoe in her hand. But as she walked across the rug she stopped and cried out in pain, hopping on one leg as blood dripped from her bare foot.

Monk was at her side in an instant, and he helped her to the chair again. "I tried to tell you," he said. "Glass shards stuck in rugs are like silent killers."

"Oh, whatever," Natalie whimpered as she held up her bleeding foot. "Just go away." She tried to keep from crying, but the tears still began to flow.

"Are you crying?" Monk asked. "It's not that bad, is it?"

"It's not about the glass, okay?" Natalie snapped back. "How could you? After all we've been through, how could you still be so selfish? How could you take me for granted like that? Now just leave me alone!" Natalie looked at her foot and found the piece of glass. It was a fairly large piece, and it was stuck half-way in her flesh. She just hoped she wouldn't need stitches, especially since she had no one to drive her to the hospital. She tried to pull the shard out, but winced in pain when it tugged on her skin.

"Here…" said Monk. He got up, went to his medicine cabinet, and came back with a pair of tweezers. He knelt down in front of Natalie and, after a moment of hesitation, gently held her ankle in one hand, and the tweezers in the other. "I don't suppose you have wipes handy?" he asked. Natalie nodded and reached into her purse to pull out a box. It had become a habit by now to carry them around.

Monk nodded back and looked at the piece of glass carefully. He took hold of it with the tweezers, and looked at Natalie. "I'm going to pull…" he said, "and tug it out quickly. It'll hurt, but only for a second. You ready?" Natalie took a deep breath and nodded. Monk also took a breath, steadied himself, and gave the tweezers a yank. The glass came out, and Natalie gasped, but the pain soon subsided, and she sighed thankfully.

Natalie looked down at the shard of glass Monk held between his tweezers and was surprised by how much smaller it was than it felt in her foot. Monk threw the glass--and the tweezers, as they had blood on them, and had touched a foot--into the trash, and he grabbed a band-aid and placed it on Natalie's foot. He then held out his hand and Natalie instinctually gave him a wipe.

"You okay?" he asked after wiping off both hands.

"Yeah," she replied. "You're pretty good at that," she added, almost begrudgingly.

"Trudy used to get splinters in her fingers," he explained. Natalie nodded.

Monk stood up again, and was about to go to the other room when Natalie stopped him. "Mr. Monk?" she said. Monk turned to look at her, and she found it hard to look at him. "I'm sorry."

Monk paused a moment, then sat down in the chair next to her. "So am I…" he said. "I really don't mean to take you for granted… I've just gotten used to… you know… being cared about."

Natalie finally worked up a smile, and she put her hand on his shoulder. "Of course I care. I've always cared about you. I'd just like to be re-assured that, you know, you cared, too."

Monk nodded. "I do… care." He turned his head and then turned to look at her again. "I guess I just forget how to do it properly sometimes."

Natalie smiled, and leaned over to give him a hug. "We all do, Mr. Monk."

Monk smiled a little, then looked at her foot worriedly. "Will you be okay driving home?" he asked.

Natalie nodded. "Yeah, it's fine," she replied. "It's just a little sore, that's all."

"Good… good…" Monk said. Natalie patted him on the back and stood up, then headed for the door with a slight limp. "Natalie?" Monk called, and she turned around to face him again. He shifted in his seat and rolled his shoulders nervously a moment, and finally asked, "W-would you… would you like to stay here a few minutes?"

Natalie smiled warmly and limped back to her chair. "I would love to, Mr. Monk," she replied. "And, as a matter of fact, while I'm here… why don't we vacuum your rug, just in case?"

Monk and Natalie both smiled at each other. It had taken a shard of broken glass in the foot… but at least they were finally on the same page when it came to rug safety.


End file.
